


Sherlocked Mourning

by LegolassieMalfoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Drama, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Het, Mystery, Oral Sex, Post-Reichenbach, Reluctant Relationship, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Build, The feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegolassieMalfoy/pseuds/LegolassieMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two people are united in death.  Is it a genuine feeling or is there more to it?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Those very words were enough to completely dissolve him. His rough hands wrapped around her slim waist desiring, no needing to devour her. Everything that she was, everything that she felt for Sherlock, everything that Sherlock felt for her. He needed to feel what they had both hungered in each other. He didn’t want to be on the outside anymore. His lips assaulted her skin. Grasping at the luscious sinful mouth. He heard her gasp at his sudden change of heart. </i></p><p> </p><p>Sherlock Holmes and related characters are owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  Sherlock BBC version owned by BBC,  Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss.  Plot and any original characters are created and owned by me.  I make no profit from this.  I am writing this for fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter story and my first in this fandom. This is also the first for this site. I adored the John and Irene scene in ASIB at the Battersea Powerstation. The idea is an exploration on that. It originally started as a one shot but it grew. This is unbetated. I am a dyslexic but have tried to check it carefully. There may be spelling errors.
> 
> This is rated mature for sex scenes. Tags will be updated as I add chapters. Any chapter featuring mature content will have a warning prior to it. 
> 
> Irene and John are the main pairing with Johnlock implied. Further chapters to follow. I hope you enjoy reading this.

“I don’t think so do you.” Irene commanded with her hand outstretched. 

Moments ago she had learned that her greatest puzzle, Sherlock, had found out that she was alive. She had faked her death to protect herself. She had something she to him and now she wanted it back. Rather than face him directly she decided to test the loyalty of the one man that mattered the most to him. 

Sherlock fascinated her. An intellect that travelled full force through life. She could tell that he was a creature like her. Easily bored with normal life so they create an exciting one for themselves. Sherlock had ensnared her senses. Not wanting to lose the upper hand she decided to focus on the game. A play of cat and mouse, the man and The Woman. She had been given instruction by Jim Moriarty but now her game had taken an interesting turn. She found herself in the abandoned Battersea Powerstation with Sherlock’s best friend. 

Her command was obeyed without question. She was skilled at giving commands and he was used to following orders. She regarded him with curious eyes. Why did Sherlock choose this man, this person named John Watson? He was a ramrod statue of military training. An army doctor injured in the line of duty. She took in his boyish features. The true years of his life formed fine lines around his eyes. Distinctive nose and a subtly angled jaw line echoed his build. Sandy blond hair trimmed neat with splices of silver bleeding through. Her eyes ran along the compact muscular form. Dressed in comfortable neat clothing which spoke of his army medical history. Ocean blue eyes connected with hers. Darker flecks of colour drew her in. A sea of complication and feeling washed over her. He froze at her voice, conflicted. She could tell that he was desperate to go after his friend but he could see the logic to her order. He wasn’t the most observant of people but he wasn’t stupid. Irene’s eyes watched his inner questioning. He seemed more perturbed by the reveal than by the fact that Irene had more or less kidnapped him. His inner battle enticed her. She smiled inwardly. 

Irene was fascinated by his actions. In fact, she found herself more intrigued as their earlier conversation had wore on. She noted his desperate need to tell everyone that he wasn’t gay, that he and Sherlock weren’t a couple. The need to respond so diligently made her wonder if he was in fact trying to convince himself. She remembered back to her first meeting with him and Sherlock. Subtle reactions she observed made her realise there was a connection between them. Something so deep and profound that neither man was willing to accept it. 

Sherlock had blazed into her life with a rushed alias and a punch on the face. His cheek more precisely. He was everything she has desired. Intelligent, classic, a non-conformist with a dangerous side. He was darkness dipped in chocolate that she was keen to devour. The cut of his clothing exaggerated his slender sensuous form. She had resisted the sinew from his flesh. It formed too much of a distraction. In truth, she preferred the company of women for her more personal pursuits. Also she summarised that he wasn’t a sexual being. That kind of companionship bored him. He challenged her and that excited her. It compelled her to want him more. She decided to play a battle of wits. She had items in her possession that would enable her to do this. She needed some help to move the plan forward so she called on the ‘Consulting Criminal, Jim Moriarty’. He advised her on how to proceed. It wasn’t a game of half measures and her plan lead to the heart of the British nation, the Royal Family. Through that it would attract the attention of the ‘Famous Hat Detective, Sherlock Holmes’. That is how he came into her life and how she in turn would end up in Dr John Watson’s. 

The cool air in the desolate building wrapped around her. Her hand dropped a little and ended up pressed against John’s chest. In contrast to their surroundings he felt hot to her. Pulse heightened by moments before when it was found out that Sherlock had followed him unknowingly. She glanced up and faced dark oceanic dilated pupils. She had seen that look so very rarely but she knew what it was. It was a look of a deep rooted attraction. 

Irene remembered how John and Sherlock had exchanged glances at her mere mention that John loved Sherlock. Neither was quick to loudly deny. In fact, John laughed it off nervously. She also remembered how quickly Sherlock changed his tone when John’s life was threatened. Irene could see something in Sherlock shift. Sherlock didn’t favour emotions. They slowed him down. He very rarely flirted with such pleasurable emotions such as love. John had changed all of that. Irene realised that she wanted to taste a part of that. 

With a blink she reset her resolve. Her focus shifted. Sherlock, while so desirable, was a being she could never have. Maybe she could connect to him in a different way. She took a step closer to John. His smell of musk, coffee and storms enveloping her. John didn’t notice her move at first he was too preoccupied. Irene managed to move in very close before John reacted.  
“What are you doing?” He queried.  
He regarded her with questioning eyes. She then answered him with a stroke down the side of his face. Before he could voice his objections she pressed her lips to his. 

Irene took no time in exploring his mouth. She forced her tongue forward getting him to yield to her. In his unguarded moment he allowed it to happen. Irene tasted what she knew Sherlock had only thought about. She would saviour the electricity between John and Sherlock in the only way she knew how. She imagined Sherlock her keenly observing. She pictured him calculating blood pressure, heart rates and body temperatures. This image excited her as she pushed her body against John’s. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders intensifying their contact. His psychical needs responded by him answering her kiss. She briefly broke contact and with her lips traced her way to his ear. Her gentle contact sent shivers down his spine as his fine hairs on his skin felt her. Breathlessly whispering she uttered,  
“I’m going to make you cum right here, right now.”


	2. Beginnings of Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone so loved is gone how does another react? 
> 
> John loses his purpose and Irene questions the reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very Irene-centric chapter. 
> 
> This happens directly after 'The Reichenbach Fall" so features main character grief. Spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen that episode. 
> 
> Quote at the beginning of the chapter is from the episode so credit to the writers. The rest of the chapter idea is mine.
> 
> Hopefully won't be too dull while I build up the characters stories. More interaction is coming in future chapters.

_“You... you told me once... that you weren't a hero. Umm... There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you? told me a lie, so... there. I was so alone... and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be...dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this…” - John Watson._

Cold stone reflected how John Watson was feeling. He couldn’t help but reach forward, All his being denied what was in front of his eyes. He fought against reality but now needed to face it. With a trembling hand he placed his fingers on the headstone, his late best friend’s headstone. There it was, the harsh conclusion of it all. His friend, Sherlock, was dead. Tears stung his eyes. He buried his face in his hand hiding his grief. He wasn’t ready for it to be out loud yet. His armour had cracked showing its vulnerability. A few moments later he coughed and returned to his steely gaze. The armour had reformed and he turned on his heel. He then marched away from the grave facing his immediate future alone. John didn’t utter anymore words as he left the cemetery. 

Irene’s body grew cold as she reread the text she had received. When she has first gotten the news she had not long stepped out of her bath. She had come back to her home in London to retrieve some of her more prized possessions. She had been in America while her life was in danger. When she felt she was safe enough she returned. The journey had been a long one as she needed to take an indirect route to make sure she wasn’t followed. She had desperately longed for a glorious soak in her bath. What pleasure she had gained from it had now left her. She was frozen on the spot, wet hair forgotten. It seemed like and age before Irene moved again. Realising that she was shivering she reached for her dressing gown. She moved over to her dressing table where she had left her phone and began searching for any more news. She found various headlines and indicating that he had jumped. As she read the details her eyes welled up. She couldn’t believe that her own reactions. She wouldn’t believe that a man as brilliant as that would fall to his death.  
“How could this have happened?” She asked herself feeling the need to know. 

Irene thumbed through various websites frantically trying to piece together more details. The text she had received demanded that she find out more. Every page stated the same thing. Sherlock had jumped and that Jim Moriarty could have been behind it. The text had asked her to find out more on Jim but she was more focused on Sherlock. All her questions fell on empty walls. For one of the few times in her life she felt very much alone. 

Irene quietly dried her hair all the while the same questions span around her head. She paid no attention to what she was doing. At one point she halted what she was doing completely and looked over to the middle of the bedroom floor. The same spot where Sherlock had laid after she had bested him. A smile crossed her lips at the memory. He was all long limbs and sharp cheekbones. Crystal blue/green eyes glazed over as her drug worked. She smiled at their first meeting. A shock of seeing her naked forcing him to forget his alias. Seeing the naked form was very telling to her. How people reacted gave her a split second look into other people’s minds. They would become unguarded and by that she would feel very powerful. Sherlock was interesting. He would be so polite and always keeps his eyes on her face. A sign of inexperience or a sign of something else? Irene’s eyes glistened with all the building tears as she fought back an overwhelming sense of loss. A feeling so unnatural for her that she was angry at herself for feeling it. 

Irene sprang up in an attempt to distract herself. She quickly styled her hair in a lose up do and then wandered over to the window. She had long delicate lace curtains. Beautiful silk imported from Italy. They kept the world away. More importantly they kept her world invisible from prying eyes. She could see well enough through and couldn’t resist a peek outside. She was surprised to see who was in the street next to her house. 

In the days that followed Sherlock’s funeral John found himself wandering around London a lot. He felt he had lost his purpose and was at a loss on what to do with his time. Without Sherlock there was no cases. Lestrade didn’t really call him as the Police had access to ample medical staff. He managed to get a part time position at a local medical practise but it didn’t really fulfil his life. The tremble in his left hand began to slowly reappear. He craved danger again. He did stay in Baker Street for a while but the emptiness was now becoming too much. He spent his days more outdoors. He would go walking for hours at a time hoping to run into some excitement. Today was no different. He really wasn’t paying attention until he found himself on a familiar street. One he had been on a few cases ago, He looked across all the ornate houses. The white brickwork drew him in. He walked slowly along until he paused in front of a particular house. 

Irene had to blink a couple of times to be sure but yes as clear as day there he was. John Watson, someone she has least expected was by her front door. He looked tired, seemingly much older since she last saw him. There was something different about him and he had lost some of his solider baring. It seemed to Irene, that his strength had been eaten away. He wore similar clothes to how she last saw him but he had lost weight. The clothes hung a little lose on him. Her assumption was that he hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly. He held a haunted look, full of an overbearing loss that chilled her. She found herself echoing that loss. She blinked through burgeoning tears. She wondered why he was there. He hadn’t moved closer to the door. Instead, he stood very still. His face in knots of confusion as he debated if he had made a mistake. It then occurred to Irene that he may have to find answers. Jim was the main reason behind Sherlock’s fall and John knew that Irene was connected to Jim. 

Irene moved away from the window and debated letting him in. Several reasons as to why circling her head. At the same time her very being told her to stop. She needed to stay hidden until the time was right. Until the heat had cooled on her. She continued to fight her better judgement. She wasn’t sure if he had seen her anyway so she went back to the window to check. She looked down and he was gone. She moved away from the window and remembered his defeated gaze. She grabbed her phone and replied to the texts. She would find out what had happened. Not just for the person who sent the texts but also for herself.


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The rain had eased off to a light drizzle as Irene walked on to Baker Street. She raised a hand to the large black door at 221B and paused. She shook her head dusting away any second guesses and pushed open the door._
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter has sexy times in it so be warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a toughy to write as I wanted to build up to the flashback without going too cheesy. 
> 
> While this does have a sex scene in it I didn't go too much into detail as the main sex scene is coming up in a later chapter. 
> 
> / / / indicates flashback. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one coming soon. 
> 
> Please review if you enjoyed.

Heavy rain sheeted down the streets of London. The grey clouds battered down their harsh wet torment. A single figure trudged along the pavement unsure of any purpose. John Watson wandered aimlessly, no thought of where he was going. Two years he had followed Sherlock. He had joined him despite his better judgement. Drawn to the danger and the need to have anything but a normal life. He had gotten use to it. To Sherlock’s weird and random routine. His life now seemed so empty. There was no purpose to his day anymore. He continued walking not really noticing that he was completely soaked. His sandy blond hair clung to his skull with rain snaking down his face, He paid no heed to his own shivering as his clothes stuck to him saturated. Nor was he aware that he was being watched. 

Emerald green eyes followed the short figure of John. Shaded by a large black umbrella Irene Adler kept her distance but continued to watch him. Her delicate form wrapped in a long midnight blue fur lined coat. Hair precisely styled in a 1950s sculpture. Sleek heeled boots protected her from the cold. Her elegant ensemble completed with leather gloves and understated jewellery. She pondered the sodden form from afar. He seemed lost. Not quite the man she had taken in the PowerStation. A piece of him shattered. She could feel it but wanted to know more. She needed to know how Sherlock ceased. She needed to ask John but wasn’t sure of her approach. How would he respond. She was aware of how reactionary he could be. She had seen a sample of that before. Would he yell or respond with fists? She wasn’t sure as she held back her position as he disappeared around the corner. 

The rain had eased off to a light drizzle as Irene walked on to Baker Street. She raised a hand to the large black door at 221B and paused. She shook her head dusting away any second guesses and pushed open the door. 

Silently she prowled up the stairs. She had been here once before so she knew the layout. The main door to the flat upstairs was ajar. Boxes lined the corridor outside. There was faint movement inside. She peered through the gap in the door. A small man was bent over some more boxes One was open on the desk with some books around in piles. The soul occupant was busying himself with sorting. He was so fixated on the sorting that she was able to enter unheard. She managed to slip over to the sofa and eased herself down into it. Even with heels she knew how to move silently. Some of her clients liked that she could do that. Irene watched the man, John Watson. He was simply dressed; dark blue jeans, light blue shirt, finished with comfortable brown shoes and a deep red v-neck jumper. Now that his hair was dry she could see that he had let it grow out a little. She smiled and wandered how long it would take for him to notice her. 

John paused for a moment, frowning as he searched for a book that he had thought he had brought from the bedroom. He then remembered that he had placed it on the coffee table by the sofa. He turned to retrieve it only to suddenly realise that he wasn’t alone.   
“Oh Jesus Christ!” He jumped.   
“No, just Irene.” She smiled.   
“What are you doing here?” He pulled away to take stock of who was there. “Wait! I thought you were dead,,, again!” He stuttered.   
Irene smiled and leaned forward. “No, not dead.” A sense of déjà vu. “A mutual friend saved me. Her voice trailed off. “Going somewhere, Dr Watson?”   
“Although its none of your bloody business, I’m moving out.” He replied while reaching for the book. Irene grabbed the hand that had reached out. She needed his attention. He was surprised by her touch and looked at her.   
“Can I have my hand back.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.   
“Its not true, is it?” She queried softly.   
“Is what true?” He responded trying to pull away from her grip. Her piercing green eyes searched his deep blue ones for any kind of an answer. His demure wasn’t as proud as he had been when she first met him. The loyal soldier who followed his friend was missing. He looked worn and tired. A small part of Irene now regretting asking the following question.   
“Sherlock died didn’t he?”   
John ripped his hand away from her. The book was now forgotten. He spun on his feet so that he was facing away from her. A deep breath then a cracked voice.   
“Yes, he did.”   
Irene’s heart sank. She felt her breath completely taken from her. She sprang up onto her feet and hurried out the door leaving a very bewildered John. 

John stood frozen for a while in disbelief. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. He shrugged and went back to his packing. After a while he exhaled deeply and brushed a palm down his face. It had been a long sort. Soon he would be ready to leave. Mrs Hudson was on holiday which was good as John didn’t think he could face her as he was moving out. He looked around the hectic chaos that was Sherlock’s stuff and wondered who would be by to sort it out. A few days ago He couldn’t bring himself to touch it let along sort it. He knocked the thought aside and checked through the drawers of the writing desk to make sure he hadn’t left anything. In one of the smaller drawers was Irene’s phone. 

‘Odd’, he thought as he had assumed that Mycroft would have had it back by now. Then again he wasn’t really surprised that Sherlock had kept it. Irene had managed to capture Sherlock in a way that John had never seen before. She managed to hold a power over Sherlock that made him behave unusually. He even showed feelings towards The Woman. John felt a pang. An unexpected feeling, the one of jealousy. He shock his head, why would he be envious? He ran a finger over the slim handset echoing Irene’s stroke down the side of his face back at Battersea PowerStation. He hadn’t thought about that moment in a while. The way she touched him, caressed him, had him so completely undone that his lust had consumed him. Looking back he was surprised by his actions. He thought about her desire for Sherlock. That she had enticed the very core of Sherlock, a part that John was never aware of. Moving the phone in his fingers he closed his eyes. 

/ / / 

“I’m going to make you cum right here, right now.” 

Those very words were enough to completely dissolve him. His rough hands wrapped around her slim waist desiring, no needing to devour her. Everything that she was, everything that she felt for Sherlock, everything that Sherlock felt for her. He needed to feel what they had both hungered in each other. He didn’t want to be on the outside anymore. His lips assaulted her skin. Grasping at the luscious sinful mouth. He heard her gasp at his sudden change of heart. 

The contact came to an abrupt end as he pulled away from her.   
“No, wait, stop!”. He exclaimed and then pulled away.   
“Its okay.” She soothed, hoping to win him over. She used her feminine charms to calm him. He certainly was psychically attracted to her on their first meeting. She remembered his eyes on her naked form as he appeared with medical supplies to clean Sherlock’s face wound. In those few seconds his eyes couldn’t pull away from her. He froze on the spot and then forced himself to stare at her face rather than her body. Irene smiled at the memory as she took John’s hand.   
“Sherlock needs to be alone right now. He doesn’t need you at the moment but I do Doctor.”  
“I know he doesn’t bloody well need me.” John snorted. “I just wanted to check on him.”   
He tried to move away from her but she pulled him back.   
“We have both had a bit of a shock. At least we should seek some solace in that.” She purred.   
John fought against every logical thought in his mind. Here was a stunning women offering herself to him in the name of comfort. Against his better judgement he allowed her to pull him back. He let her hands on him once more. Her expert fingers groped at his jacket and plucked at the fastenings. His breathing quickened as she leaned in and began nibbling at his jaw line. He closed his eyes allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of her touch. 

Irene smiled inwardly to herself as she felt John yield to her. She felt his hands tighten their grip drawing her closer. She could feel his desperate need for a psychical connection. One that he had unconsciously craved from someone else. One that he left unresolved. Irene was happy to answer that need if it meant getting close to what was in Sherlock’s heart. 

They weren’t in an ideal location. Irene preferred luxurious locations. Extravagant apartments dripping in expense. John on the other hand didn’t seem to care. He had forgotten his anger. Right now he was all too consumed by lust. The need to get close to Sherlock’s desires drove him. Irene felt the same need. John was the key to Sherlock’s innermost thoughts. She also knew that she had to act before he changed his mind. This was her moment to shine. This is what she excelled at. Playing with peoples desires was her stage. Right now she was ready to play another role. While Sherlock was her main goal she would fix her focus on the soldier before her. She made him promise not to tell anyone what they were about to do. He agreed. Before either of them could escape they were shagging against the wall. 

/ / /

John let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t believe that he let that happen. He had some hate for her. The game that she had been playing had tied Sherlock in knots. He hated the way that she could get under peoples skin. How manipulative she could be. Somehow she had figured him out and he was dead set against her revelations. She had spotted things that he had so fiercely convinced himself that he didn’t feel. In those revelations she revealed that she was caught in the same situation. Against their normal chosen types they were both captivated by Sherlock. He slowly began to realise that they shared the same understanding. He pondered if she would have also missed Sherlock now that he was dead. He flipped the small sleek device in his hands, Irene’s phone. He found it mildly amusing that such a thing could bring a nation to its knees. Power play was an odd game. One that he was less inclined to be part of. He smiled at Sherlock’s and his first experience of her. Sherlock looked so uncomfortable at her nakedness. John, however, knew exactly where to look. Why wouldn’t he, she was stunning. Curves draped on a sculptured small frame. Skin of porcelain milk. Dark luscious hair and wanton blood red lips. Anyone would dream to have her and John was no exception. That was until he found out what she was like and began to hate her. As the case wore on he became less interested while lives were on the line. It all changed that day in Battersea PowerStation. Neither admitted it to Sherlock. 

A heavy erotic breath sound interrupted his thoughts. He was surprised to see the screen light up. A text message.   
*I’m hungry. Lets have dinner.*  
An old text. He mused. Must have been left over and he accidentally set it off when he picked it up the phone. Another breath sound, a second text.   
*Yes, with you, Dr John Watson.*  
He blinked several times to make sure he was reading it correctly. “Oh Jeez!”


End file.
